"Get in the car. We're going shopping."
He'd been brooding. Whenever he wasn't actively researching methods of contacting a deceased witch in the underworld, as a matter of fact, and Abbie was sick of it. Brooding didn't suit Crane. She was used to his indignantly commenting on every outrageous thing about the present that struck him, arguing his points, backing up his facts with his dry sense of humour. Maybe a change of scene would help him out of his misery.
Ichabod met her steely gaze with an arched eyebrow, decided there was little point in protesting as his victory was unlikely, and meekly picked up his coat to head for Abbie's car.
He was still clearly reeling from the whole 'I-have-a-son-who-probably-died-decades-ago' ordeal which was evidenced by the fact he didn't speak on the drive - no questions, no barbs, no running commentary on the lack of decorum in the modern fashions of passers-by, not even any playing with the windows. Typically he couldn't resist pressing the button and watching the window slide up and down at least a few times, until Abbie's warning death glare became unavoidable.
Abbie was shocked at how much as missed Annoying Crane, with all his quirks. She hoped she'd be able to get him back. He didn't even look quite like her Crane anymore. He seemed paler even thinner than usual, almost gaunt, and she wondered if he'd been eating properly and vowed she would drag him to her place for a few meals and stop feeding him fast food when they were on a job. There were stress lines around his eyes that she'd never noticed, and the usual sharpness of said blue eyes was muted and shadowed by dark rings. Sometimes Abbie thought she knew his eyes better than any other part of him. They appeared green in some indoor lighting, and in the darkness they turned silver. During jobs she found herself constantly sneaking glancing at him just to check what colour they were.
When they reached the mall the activity perked him up a little, and Abbie was careful to keep him at her side so he wouldn't wander - he was liable to stray towards anything that interested him or he didn't understand, which was roughly fifty percent or so of the sights around them. The mall was crowded, fully decorated for Christmas with brightly coloured trees, wreathes and banners everywhere. Ichabod watched a man playing a complex, multi-tiered drumset with great interest, flinched away from the pizza advertiser avidly shaking a specials board to attract customers, and stared wide-eyed when they saw a couple of teenagers being hauled away in handcuffs for shoplifting and assaulting security.
He lingered then turned longingly towards a storefront. "That store smells incredible." He declared, with a touch of awe in his voice. Abbie smiled, pleased he was at least taking more of an interest in his surroundings.
"That's the Body Shop. Perfume, soap, that kind of thing. Not really what we need for you."
Just the same, he stopped at the tray of display bottles by the entrance, lowered his head, and got a look of intense concentration. Usually, that particular look was reserved for when he had a book before him written in a language Abbie couldn't recognize. "Crane?"
He picked up one bottle, sniffed briefly at it, made a dismissive face, then snagged a second. "Aha!"
"Aha what?"
"This is the perfume you wear."
Abbie was surprised he got it right - though it wasn't perfume, only body spray, a coconut one she afforded herself as a small luxury. He must have the nose of a bloodhound.
"I'm impressed, but we still need to get you a few sets of clothes. Come on."
He got sidetracked again just a few stores up. "That smell is also delightful..." He said wonderingly, veering off towards a small Cinnabon stand. Abbie rolled her eyes as she broke into a trot to follow him. He looked so entranced she couldn't resist buying him a cinnamon roll, pus one for herself - she had a feeling she might need the sugar rush to steel her up Ichabod's First Shopping Encounter.
She unwisely let him out of her sight for a few precious seconds while she dropped her paper bag in the nearest trash can and turned back to find Crane was no longer at her side.
Shit! If he's wandered off into a crowd of Christmas shoppers I'll never get him back!
She breathed a sigh of releif when she realized that he hadn't gone very far and in fact stood transfixed at the nearest store front, but it wasn't perfume or cinnamon rolls that had him entranced this time. He had a smile on his face and a palm pressed to the glass.
"NO." She pulled at her firmest no-nonsense Lieutenant Voice. "Don't even THINK it, Crane."
"They're so tiny.." He trailed off, a softer look coming over his usually composed face than she'd ever seen. "Miss Mills.."
"Don't you Miss-Mills me. I said no." She grabbed his arm and tugged. He shuffled a reluctant half-step away from the window. "Absolutely entrancing." He murmured, resisting Abbie's hauling on his arm for another minute before she towed him away.
"You aren't getting one." Abbie had her hands full enough with Crane on his own, let alone Crane complete with puppy.
He looked over his shoulder at the pet store window and she towed him away. "Why ever not? We always had dogs about at the manor in England, and even during the war there were many who accompanied their masters into battle. George Washington himself brought his favourite hound."
"Don't get any ideas." Abbie warned him, breathing a sigh of relief when the pet store was out of sight. She was not up to explaining why it was a poor choice to buy a puppy from a pet store, since most of them were bred by heartless puppy farms. If she had to explain the concept of the factory-farmed-dogs who suffered in cages all their lives to him, judging by his besotted expression looking on the puppies, her hotheaded soldier would begin a campaign she'd never be able to drag him away from to free them. They had enough on their plate averting the Apocalypse without taking on animal rights too.
Thank goodness he spotted a mannequin on the way to their destination that distracted him. He stopped so suddenly Abbie overshot him my several step. "Crane, what did I say about sticking close?" She grumbled irritably.
"Dear Lord, such a vulgar display oughtn't be in public like this." Crane's outraged gaze was narrowed on a Macy's mannequin in lacy underwear and bra.
Why me? Abbie turned her eyes to the decorations above. "Crane, it's okay. They're having a 20% off underwear sale. Brace yourself, because that's exactly where we're going."
Given his reaction to underwear she started with shirts and pants. She picked out the closest shirts she could find to what he was wearing - nothing had laces, but he seemed happy enough with button-ups with long sleeves and collars. He was suspicious of the jeans she tried to pursued him into. "This 'denim' resembles no cotton weave I have ever come across." He grumbled, and in the end he wound up with three sets of pants close to what he already owned and one set of dark jeans Abbie insisted upon.
She took a deep breath, and herded him into Underwear.
"Are these actually intended to be drawers?" He spluttered, staring wide-eyed at the boxers and briefs in every colour around them. "Why are they so short?"
Thank god he's familiar with the concept, Abbie told herself. Not, that, of course, she'd been having secret fantasies about what sort of underwear, if any, the man had on.
He picked up a garment between thumb and forefinger, examined, then waved, it at her. "What is this intended to cover, exactly?"
"Not very much. I don't think you'd find that comfortable." Abbie removed the thong from his grip and returned it to the shelf. "Since we don't know weather you're a boxes or briefs man, we'll just try a couple of each and you can tell me which you find more comfortable for next time we come."
He spluttered with the indignity of it all until they left the clothing department.
Maybe on their next trip, she'd get daring and see if she could get him to update his coat. She was pretty sure she didn't have the heart to pose any argument about the boots, though.
She paused at the Christmas displays. Oh, what the hell, it was only money. Ichabod stared on in bewilderment as she handed him a boxed-up tree. "What is this?"
"Christmas tree. Save the questions for when we get to the Archives, and we'll set it up there." Sadly, it was where they were spending most of their time these days. Better to set it up there where they might actually see it, instead of her place or Crane's cabin.
And when exactly did you start thinking of it as Crane's cabin, not Corbin's?
Ichabod still didn't really trust EFTPOS machines or credit cards and watched the cashier ring through the sale with a mild scowl. "How that tiny device is able to recall your money accurately at the mere press of a button..." He began rebelliously, but Abbie nudged his arm with her shoulder to subtly shut him up. "The point is not to attract too much attention, Crane. That's why we're buying all of this." She nodded to the bags of clothing - plastic bags, Ichabod thought with a flash of annoyance - but he realized that this was far from the first time Abbie had paid for his own things. In his former time, it would have been unheard of. "Nevertheless Miss Mills, you have my gratitude for covering my expenses. It is not my intention to become a financial burden to you."
She sighed as she replaced her credit card and handed him the bags to carry so his male ego wouldn't be further dented. "Crane, you are no kind of burden to me, okay? It's only money, and if I'm going to spending the next seven years of my life fighting demons instead of drug dealers, I hardly need the spare cash to go jetting off to Paris now, do I?"
"Thought admittedly Paris is an excellent center for medicinal research, I cannot imagine any other reason one would want to visit that dreary city. There was no city further in debt, with such poor leadership as Paris."
"These days, that dreary city is one of the most popular vacation spots in the world. I assume French is one of the six hundred languages you speak?"
"Overlooking that gross overestimation which I'm assuming was meant in jest, yes, I do speak French."
"Colour me shocked."
"Lieutenant?"
"Hmm?"
"What did you man by 'jetting'?"
She was surprised this particular conversation had taken so long. "You remember when you said London was months away by boat? Well, we have planes now that move a lot faster than boats can. You can fly even to distant places with a day."
That did the trick. "But - how in the name of - that quickly?" It was enjoyable for Abbie to see his eyes get so wide and him grasping for words. "I had heard rumours, speak of the devil, that the French were in the planning stage with hydrogen vessels of suspension, but for the concept to be so streamlined... how do your 'planes', work, Miss Mills?"
The ride home Abbie spent enlightening Crane on the joys of airline travel, trying to answer his numerous questions on the topic which she deflected with her sketchy knowledge of physics. How was she to know that her ninth-grade Physics teacher was right, and that she would be applying what she learned in class in the real world one day?
Though she highly doubted what Mr Chaplain meant was that someday she'd been trying to rationalize how planes stayed in the air to a time-traveling revolutionary solider.
When they pulled up at Crane's cabin, Abbie insisted on carrying one of the bags inside, which Crane silently protested by holding the door as she went inside. With the kettle hissing on the stovetop and Crane hesitantly collecting mugs and spoons in preparation for coffee, he turned to join Abbie at the kitchen table.
"Miss Mills? Might... would it be possible..."
"Spit it out, Crane." Abbie encouraged patiently. He looked startled for a moment. "Er - I was just wondering. If there ever came a time we were not engaged against the forces of darkness, might we partake one of these plane's transportational abilities?"
He looked so ridiculously eager, with those blasted blue eyes and hopeful expression. "Where do you want to go?" She shouldn't have had to ask.
"London. I would dearly like to see what has become of my home."
She smiled at him. "First thing we do once we've kicked Moloch's albino butt is book two tickets to London."
He smiled widely back, and just like that, she saw the Crane she knew emerging from the misery of the past few days.
A/N Okay I've put off doing a shopping scene for so long, even though bits of this chapter were already written before tonight. Mostly because I'm not American and the culture of shopping over there is very different to ours. (I am a Kiwi-born Aussie.) It's a silly thing to worry about wrecking, but, that's what goes on inside my chaotic mind. It did let me do some fun research into American stores we don't get over here though and that was fun! Though, I'm now sad we have no Cinnabon. They appear for all intents exceptionally delicious. I want all my readers to go buy one, eat it, and think of your hungry ChestnutBrumby missing out while you do :)
What do you mean it's two in the morning? GO!